BILLIE AGAINST HER WORLD
There was a moment of silence broken only by the night sounds of the
woods and the gentle lapping of the lake against the shore.
Then Edina Tooker drew a long, tremulous breath.
“It--sounds like--a fairy tale,” she said huskily. “Seems like I’d have
to change a lot to have that happen.”
“So you will,” said Billie Bradley eagerly. She was beginning to
warm to her plan as it took form in her mind. “Not in yourself, you
understand, but in, well, in externals--like clothes, for instance.”
There! It was out! Even in the darkness Billie could guess at the hot
flush that mantled the face of the girl from the West. As the silence
continued and Edina sat with clenched hands, staring out toward the
lake, Billie began to fear she had gone too far--that Edina’s fierce
pride would resent the insinuation in her friendly suggestion.
In a moment, however, Edina’s quiet voice put her fears to rest.
“Everything about me’s wrong. Don’t you think I know that? All I need
is eyes in my head to tell me I don’t stack up against these girls here
with their purty clothes and their airs and graces. We’re a hundred--a
thousand miles apart.”
“Would you like to be like them, Edina--look like them, I mean?”
For the first time the girl showed animation.
“Oh, would I just!” she breathed. “Would I _just_! But I don’t know
how. I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Well, _I_ would,” said Billie. “I’ll guarantee to make you over into
a perfect picture of the modern schoolgirl, Edina Tooker, as soon
as--well, as soon as we can get a day off to do some shopping.”
“Would you help me?” asked Edina, in a stifled tone. “_Would_ you?”
“You’d be surprised,” Billie retorted gaily. “I hope you have some sort
of indelible identification mark on you, Edina Tooker. Otherwise, when
I get through with you, you won’t know yourself!”
There was no doubt but that the girl from Oklahoma, Billie’s “rough
diamond,” was dazzled by the prospect.
“It don’t seem hardly possible, but if you could fix me up like you
say, I’d be grateful to you all the rest of my life.”
“There’s only one condition,” said Billie severely; “and that is that
you will agree to do exactly as I tell you, that you will let me have
my own way about everything. It’s the only way I can get results.”
“Done!” cried Edina, and reached out a big rough hand that almost
crushed Billie’s little one in its grip. “You’re sure a good sport and
I’m sorry for the way I--I talked to you before.”
“That’s all right.” Billie began to gather up the remnants of the
basket lunch. “We’d best be getting back to the Hall or they will be
sending out a posse in search of us. Besides, I promised Vi I’d help
her with her math.”
As the two girls approached the Hall, Edina walking close to Billie,
her eyes downcast and sullen, they found that the school grounds were
almost deserted.
The groups of girls had broken up and scattered indoors, most of them
for study, some few of them for reading or other diversions, some
merely to enjoy that half hour or so of school gossip they all found so
enjoyable.
Billie found that a few of her friends still lingered in the grounds.
Laura and Vi with Connie Danvers and Ray Carew were discussing the
tennis tournament which was to be an exciting feature of the fall term.
These girls turned interested and speculative eyes toward Billie and
her companion.
Edina would have avoided Billie’s friends. She murmured something under
her breath about having to get back to her dormitory; but Billie seized
her hand and drew her on toward the group of amused and interested
girls.
“You promised you’d do as I say,” she reminded her companion. “And
the first thing you’ve got to learn is never to run away from any
situation. You’ve got to square your chin and look it straight in the
eye.”
Billie marched straight up to her friends, Edina’s big, rough hand
clenched tightly in her own.
“Girls,” she said, in her forthright fashion, “Edina Tooker and I have
decided to be friends. We are going to be the best of pals from now on.
And I am depending upon all my friends to be nice to her.”
There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. The girls did not like Edina
Tooker. Nevertheless, they knew that if Billie took her up, sooner or
later they would all be forced to accept her. Not too graciously, they
bowed to the inevitable.
“Anything you say goes with me, Billie,” Laura observed.
“Me, too,” said Vi.
“Welcome to the fold, Edina,” drawled Ray Carew.
“We welcome you as one of ourselves,” added Connie, the sarcasm behind
her words not too well disguised.
“I knew you would,” said Billie sweetly, wanting, privately, to slap
them all. To her new protégé she said: “It’s only Tuesday, Edina. We
will have to wait until Saturday, I guess, to get a day off and carry
out our plans. Remember, we are going to make them all sit up and take
notice. Until then, don’t forget our bargain.”
“I won’t,” returned Edina. She released her hand from Billie’s and
without so much as a good-by to the other girls made her way through
the beautiful grounds toward the first-year dormitories. In that
beautiful setting, she looked grotesque enough, as much out of place as
the proverbial bull in the china shop.
“Well, I see you’ve gone and done it, Billie,” sighed Vi. “I was afraid
you would. But it’s no use. You can’t tame that girl.”
“Like making friends with a lion cub,” observed Laura. “You never can
tell when it will turn and rend you with its fangs. That sounds a bit
far-fetched, but I guess you catch my meaning.”
Billie shook her head.
“You’re dead wrong, all of you. Edina isn’t a bit like that. She is
headstrong and untamed, I’ll admit; but at heart she’s very much like
the rest of us, wanting what we want and desperately anxious for an
education.”
Ray Carew’s mocking laugh floated on the darkness.
“I hadn’t an idea you were so credulous, Billie. The girl is nothing
but a savage. If you try to help that sort of person you will only get
your trouble for your pains. I’m warning you.”
It was being slowly borne in upon Billie Bradley that she was alone
in her championship of the strange, lonely girl from Oklahoma. Her
friends, the girls upon whom she depended for understanding and
support in what she had come to regard as an interesting and even
exciting experiment, were subtly, but none the less decidedly, ranging
themselves against her.
She turned to Connie Danvers.
“Do you feel that way about it, too, Connie?” she asked.
“I’m willing to be nice to anybody, if you say so, Billie. But I can’t
help thinking you are making a mistake, taking up this freak girl from
Oklahoma. It seems to me you are letting yourself in for a heap of
trouble.”
“You feel that way about it, too, Vi?”
“’Fraid I do, Billie. Though I’ll try to be nice to her, if you say so.”
“And you, Laura?”
“You will never be able to make anything of that sort of girl, Billie.
She has nothing in common with the rest of us. If you try to take her
up, you will be only wasting your time. I feel sure of it.”
Billie was silent for a moment. She was troubled and hurt, but the
defection of her friends in no wise altered her determination to help
the strange, wild, half-tamed girl from Oklahoma.
“Very well,” she said quietly. “I am glad to know how you all stand,
anyway. From now on, it will be my business to prove you wrong!”
As Billie limped up the gravel path alone, there was a curious weight
upon her spirit. The disapproval of her friends was a new experience to
her. Even Vi and Laura had deserted.
“I’ll show them I can make something of Edina Tooker!” she told
herself. “I’ll make them admit it! I’ve got to now, to justify myself.”